


Strange Allies

by prettykid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:47:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettykid/pseuds/prettykid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Hermione had never gone to Hogwarts?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stranger

Disclaimer: HP doesn't belong to me. I just like to have fun with the characters.

 

Note: This is a different world from the canon where Voldemort's reign began more secretly and successfully, to the point where the timeline has been changed and Hermione was not enrolled into Hogwarts.

 

Chapter 1

 

He was late today.

Hermione glanced at the clock embedded into the wall. Five minutes late even, which was odd for the stranger she had observed for the past year and a half.

It wasn't that she was stalking him, really. He was just so incredibly peculiar that she had no choice but to notice him. It was like watching a polar bear stroll down the streets of London without a care in the world. That was just it—the stranger _stood out_.

But for some reason today he was late and that bothered her more than it should have.

She sighed and lowered the book from her face, letting it fall into her lap as she lost all pretense of reading it in favor of looking around for the now-familiar sight of his pale hair, impeccably smoothed back every day without fail. There was always a cool expression on his face, never flickering despite the pushing crowds as he seemed to glide to his destination. Alone. Wearing a cloak.

A cloak. In this day and age. Hermione's neck already itched just thinking about it suffocating her. There were plenty of sensible outer wear options, such as jackets or coats to keep warm, easily picked up from any bargain bin, yet the stranger insisted on a cloak of deep green, so dark it appeared black without light. It fluttered dramatically around him as he walked, but seemed more suited for an opera set in the 18th century than a dirty train station with used gum dotting the gray cement. No one seemed to notice his odd dress except for her, perhaps assuming he was an actor of some sort.

She doubted that he was an actor though. In the past, she had had her share of dates with those who believed themselves to be the next Laurence Olivier, and the stranger lacked the same glint of desperation in his eyes. He reminded her of a self-assured cat who knew his place in the world and strolled where he pleased, always on some mysterious business that made others invisible to him.

She pushed up her thick, bushy brown hair into a makeshift bun without caring that more than a few strands escaped her. She stood up as her train arrived, casting one last look around the station for the stranger. The flimsy plastic doors parted, its packed occupants jerking forward, but refusing to step out, their toes on the very edge of the car in front of the gap. They glared at her, as if daring her to even try shoving her way in.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose and sat back down. She wasn't in a hurry anyway. The doors closed and the passengers visibly sucked in their guts to let it seal them in. The train lurched forward, picking up speed into the gaping tunnel. She picked up her book again and stuck her nose into it. She was only a few paragraphs in when her eyes wandered above the top of the pages to the platform on the other side.

The stranger walked, his well polished shoes briskly clipping into the station floor. Italian, they looked like. Expensive too. She cricked her neck at an uncomfortable angle when the crowd slipped in front of him and she lost visual. He appeared again and what he did then made her jaw drop and question her sanity.

The stranger stepped straight into a brick wall and disappeared.

She whipped her head around, mouth agape, silently demanding if anyone else had seen what she had just witnessed. She thankfully resisted the urge to point. She jumped from the bench with the idea to investigate the wall when her phone buzzed in her purse. She dug through its depths and saw Deanna's text.

 

_**Deanna: WHERE ARE YOU!!!?????** _

**_Hermione: About to get on the Tube. Why?_**

_**Deanna: GENEVIVE GOING BALLISTIC. COME IN ASAP.** _

 

She almost groaned out loud. Genevive, her boss. The head curator at the Museum of London and resident mad woman. She lingered wistfully, staring at her phone and then at the wall. She had a brief fantasy of throwing her phone into the gap and running after the stranger, grabbing him and asking him exactly what kind of trick he had employed. The phone buzzed again in her hand.

 

**_Deanna: NONE OF THE EXHIBITIONS HAVE ARRIVED! WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO????!!!!_ **

 

Oh. That _was_ a problem. She sighed. The stranger and his freakish wall would have to wait.

 

– –

 

Draco loathed the train station.

A year and a half ago, the Dark Lord returned to power and half of the wizarding world went into hiding. There had been signs of what to come for a long time. Slowly, Death Eaters had infiltrated the upper echelons of the Ministry. It became extremely rare that Muggle children were extended invitations to join Hogwarts. The smart witches and wizards packed their bags and left the country. Meanwhile, there were idiots like him too stupid or too brave to leave.

He thought of the Malfoy Villa in Italy, far, far away from dreary London and its disgusting train stations. At first it had been a matter of pride that his parents had remained in England. After all, the Malfoys were staunch supporters of the Dark Lord from the very start. Draco knew it would end badly if they stayed, but his parents stubbornly stayed and waited for the return.

Then Draco's father was thrown into Azkaban and his mother refused to leave, even after it became clear that the second coming of the Dark Lord was not as glorious as the Purebloods seemed to remember it. The two decades of peace had been good to the Malfoys, thought they'd never admit it.

When the Dark Lord's reign resumed, he took residence in the Malfoy ancestral home, claiming it for himself. He freed Lucius Malfoy, only to give him the task of executing Dumbledore, the former Headmaster of Hogwarts and an old enemy. When Lucius failed, there was punishment to be had.

Draco curled his fists, shaking at the memory. It would have been better if the Dark Lord had killed his father. Instead, what was left behind was a frail shell, dribbling mucus and staring blankly with crusted eyes. Gritting his teeth, he stepped through the wall into the hidden tunnel that snaked underground into countless passageways. He pulled out his wand and muttered, “ _Lumos_.”

A small orb of light formed at the tip of the wand, letting him see the way. He knew it by heart. He made the journey every day from his pathetic little flat that he was reduced to living in. He was sure his mother knew what it was that he was doing, but she never said a word. This morning she hadn't even looked up as he walked out the door. He wondered what would happen if they were found. Would she let herself be killed? With that grim thought in his mind, he put as many locks and spells as he could possibly conjure up on the flat before he left.

The tunnel he turned into had a stone archway that seemed to be walled up for centuries. He positioned himself to the first of the three carved raven heads staring down at him. He touched their beaks with his wand in a memorized pattern. The beaks snapped closed and the ground rumbled as the wall moved away to reveal a set of stairs. He climbed them and reached a heavy wooden door he knew not to open.

Instead, he reached into the dark and found a heavy ring floating in the air. He knocked it five times and waited until a different door appeared, allowing him entry into 12 Grimmauld Place.

Kingsley Shacklebolt waited in the hall, a deep frown carved into his features.

“You're late,” he said.

 

 


	2. Disappearances

Chapter 2

 

Three disappearances in the past month. Three _muggle_ disappearances. Draco felt the eyes at the table turn to him. They watched him for his reaction. He maintained his look of disinterest and kept his attention on Dumbledore.

The former Headmaster folded his hands. Draco had always thought of the man as old, but in the way trees were old or mountains. They were never young and it was hard to imagine a time when they were, yet time didn't seem to affect them at all. Constant despite the ages.

For the first time, Draco was alarmed to notice the deeper crevices lining the place beneath Dumbledore's eyes. His skin resembled paper, able to tear easily.

There were not many left who could take on the Dark Lord directly. As the years passed, hope died a little more. Draco dreaded the day Dumbledore's body would fail him.

“Perhaps Draco can investigate the area,” Snape suggested. He was a constant presence at Dumbledore's side. The knowledge that his godfather had been a spy had come as a shock when Draco joined the Order. Then again, who else had Draco learned his impeccable composure from?

The chairs creaked as the members shifted in uncomfortable dissent. They didn't trust Draco. He was sure they didn't trust Snape either and would spit on their help had Dumbledore not vouched for them. Draco studied the great wizard's calm demeanor and wondered what gave him such certainty. Both Draco and Snape came directly from the Death Eaters, after all.

“Whoever is targeting the muggles will know that we've noticed. They won't be easy to handle,” Sirius said.

Draco grit his teeth. So the dog-man thought he couldn't do it?

Technically, he and Sirius were related by blood. Most of the oldest Pureblood families were. You wouldn't know it, looking at Sirius's scraggly black hair and dirty fingernails. The return of the Dark Lord certainly had its hardships, but that didn't warrant dressing like a hobo.

Various arguments flew across the table. Most of it against Draco taking the task. He remained silent, staring down at his hands.

“They're getting bolder.” Moody's magical eye whirled, darting to the shadowy corners of the room.

“It's been that way since we lost...” Tonks began, but trailed. Quiet fell over the table.

Since they lost Harry Potter.

There were gaping holes among their ranks. The losses were felt through the missing presence of their comrades. While Draco had never been particularly close with any of them, he had to admit their list of allies was getting shorter everyday.

“I can go with Draco,” Luna Lovegood spoke up, her clear voice cutting through the noise.

Draco narrowed his eyes at the girl. She blithely smiled back. The high arches of her brows rose. He wondered if she would be a liability in a fight. Though he had seen Luna before in school, he had never seen her in action. To be honest, he was partly convinced that her head was filled with bits of fluff as voluminous as her hair.

They waited for Dumbledore's answer. The old wizard took a rattling breath and nodded. “Take extra precautions,” he said.

Draco wasn't sure if he warned about the danger or about Draco himself.

 

\--

 

“'Mione, you're a lifesaver. I don't know how you do it,” Deanna said, marveling at the neat stacks of crates being brought in at last.

Hermione blushed at the compliment then sank into a chair. Her feet ached and her back was sore, but there was a satisfaction in knowing there was nothing else to do, at least, for today. She savored the moment for a little longer.

Deanna fluffed her blond hair that curled perfectly at the nape of her neck. Her already pink face seemed a more pleased pink than usual. She beamed at Hermione. “Come on then, let's get some drinks to celebrate.”

Hermione stretched, thinking of her comfortable bed and soft pillows. Most nights she preferred staying in. Deanna must have seen the oncoming rejection and pouted her plush lower lip.

“I really am tired,” Hermione said. She was tired. It wasn't an excuse. She glanced up at the clock and her pulse jumped because if she left now, she maybe could see the stranger again.

“You dating someone new?” Deanna leaned in, eager for fresh details on Hermione's rather pathetic love life.

Automatically, Hermione laughed because of how far it was from the truth. Well, the stranger didn't count anyway. Not as if creepily watching a man from across the platform counted.

Deanna gasped, her voice hushed. “There is!” A high pitched squeal escaped her lips as she grabbed Hermione's hand in delight. “Oh congrats 'Mione! Tell me all about him. How tall is he? Have you been to his flat? Does he have money? What does he--”

She was cut off by Leon popping his head in the door, a wide grin slapped on his face. “Ladies, ready for the pub?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Deanna who avoided looking directly back. For months now Deanna had been playing matchmaker. She thought it was a match made in Heaven, not that she consulted Hermione or Leon about it.

By all accounts, Hermione would have gone with it in the past, but lately, she just wasn't interested in dating anyone. She stopped herself to wonder why, but pushed the thought out of her mind when an image of the stranger's serious face floated to the top of her memories.

Deanna flounced out of her chair to grab her coat. She turned sharply back to Hermione, who had been slinking away quietly. “Coming, Hermione?” Deanna's smile revealed too many teeth, like a predator.

“I suppose,” Hermione replied, reluctantly wrapping her scarf around her neck. It was long enough that she could wind it around her face with just her eyes and nose peeking out. Very sexy, Granger.

Deanna gave a little huff, but didn't comment. She hooked an arm into Hermione's and the other into Leon's, locking them in with no escape. Perhaps Hermione should have lied and said she was dating someone after all.

The Black Bear pub was their usual go-to, which stood a little ways from the trendier areas and looked shabby at first sight. Hermione settled into the squishy seat with Deanna while Leon went to get the first round.

“Dee, you still trying to hook me up with Leon?” Hermione asked as soon as said man was out of hearing range.

Deanna at least had the decency to appear guilty. “What? He's cute isn't he?” She preened a little and continued, “Plus, he told me he wanted to know more about you.”

“Don't be funny. He's been working at the Museum for months—why would he be interested all of a sudden?”

“Sometimes love isn't at first sight.”

Love. Hermione snorted at the thought. Deanna had a terrible flair for romantics.

Thankfully, the evening turned out to be rather pleasant. Hermione may have had a little more to drink than she intended by the end.

“Oh, you two go ahead to the station. I live around here,” Deanna said, waving Hermione and Leon off.

“You sure? There's been some missing persons in the area, you know.” Hermione wrapped her coat more tightly around herself. Her breath came in puffs in the chilly night air as they left the warmth of the pub.

Deanna insisted, but not before Hermione caught a devilish glint in her eye. As they walked away, Hermione could have sworn she heard a triumphant laugh ring out.

“That woman,” Hermione grumbled.

Leon's cheek went red, though he maintained most of his composure. “Don't blame her. I did ask for some help.”

“Ah. About that...” Hermione hesitated, trying to find the best way to let him down easy. “You're a really nice guy, but I'm just not really looking for anyone at the mome--”

“That's not why I asked for her help,” Leon interrupted flatly.

Hermione couldn't help but feel a little disappointed at that. It wasn't often someone fancied her.

“I've been watching you. I can tell you're...different, 'Mione.”

The way he spoke rubbed her the wrong way. They weren't close enough for him to be using nicknames and why had he been _watching her_?

Hermione stopped walking. “Actually, I forgot to tell Deanna something. So, I'll see you at work on Monday.”

Leon reached into his jacket. The back of her neck went cold with fear. He could have a knife—a gun even. She had to get out of here. She desperately hoped Deanna was still nearby.

She opened her mouth to scream when Leon pulled out a stick of some sort and hissed, “ _Petrificus totalus._ ”

Her entire body went rigid as if invisible ropes bound her arms and legs. Unable to keep her balance, she fell forward on her face. Her nose smashed into the sidewalk. Blood leaked onto the ground, cooling rapidly. The pain and impact left her dizzy and it was a good thing she wasn't standing anymore.

No. Wait. It was very bad she wasn't standing anymore. She remembered the mace in her purse, but what good would it do her now? She grit her teeth and squirmed against whatever was holding her. Her mind was slow to process what had happened to her. She couldn't see anything holding her down, so why couldn't she move?

Leon leaned over her to talk in her ear. Shudders of disgust ran through her. “Sorry, 'Mione. We can't have filth like you running around.”

He raised the stick. She squeezed her eyes shut, sensing that despite how silly he looked, he meant her some kind of deadly harm.

“ _Expilliarmus._ ”

A great flash blinded Hermione momentarily. When she could see again, there was a woman lying next to her, staring at her intently with widened gray eyes. The woman's head was cushioned by thick white-blonde hair that she didn't seem to mind touching the dirty sidewalk.

“Oh, hello there. You're still alive. Can you move?” When Hermione wiggled like a flopping fish, the woman nodded in understanding and murmured something under her breath.

The bonds squeezing her released immediately. Hermione gasped for breath as her ribcage could expand again. She propped herself up and saw that the woman was not alone.

In the street, a cloaked stranger wielding the same kind of stick as Leon was producing fire and ghostly snakes from nothing. Leon wasn't going down easy, keeping his ground and returning a volley of green lightning that barely missed the stranger. It blackened what it hit and Hermione knew the marks could never be removed.

The hood of the cloak fell away. The smoothed back pale hair had escaped in messy strands around his angular face. Stormy eyes shined in the heat of the battle.

He wasn't just any stranger—he was hers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna is quite possibly my favorite character next to Neville.


End file.
